Mourning
by AltairVanyel
Summary: Mortality seems ridiculous to the Gods. That is, until they have people that they will actually miss.


On a Long Island hill, before a pine tree that marked the beginning of the woods, there was a circle of statues. Each statue marked the grave of one of the greatest heroes of a generation. At their center, sat the last of the greatest generation of heroes since the time of Ancient Greece. An old woman, her blonde hair now grey, was tired. She was sick, and feeble, too weak to walk anymore, but despite the fact that time had clouded his eyes which had once been sea green, an old man was still strong enough to carry her, so long as she could tell him where to step.

"Set me down here," She said, before inhaling sharply with pain, "careful, Seaweed Brain, be careful!"

"Sorry, Wise Girl," He apologized softly, "Goat boy, get over here and help me." A grey old satyr trotted over, taking her side and helping lower her to the ground. The old man sat down next to the woman.

"Tell me, Annabeth," He whispered to her, "How does my cousin's tree look today?"

"As old and as withered as we are," She wheezed bluntly.

"Good," He snorted, "Even if she is immortal, at least something is feeling her age."

"I'd smack you if I had the strength," She said with a glare he could feel, even if he couldn't see it.

"Percy," Another man asked, "are you really sure you want to go through with this? After all, you might live another twenty years."

"Nico DiAngelo," The blind man said sternly, "Annabeth doesn't have twenty years. Every day she hangs on is another day of pain for her. I haven't seen my wife's face in a decade, do you really think I want to go twenty years without hearing her voice? What would I even do with twenty more years, sit around with you and Grover reminiscing about the glory days, missing our friends, and complaining about how these young heroes don't know how good they have it? No, all I want now is to enter one last night with my wife." Suddenly, a dozen lights descended from the heavens, as two more ascended from the earth. All fourteen of the Olympians had come.

"I take it then," Zeus called in a thunderous voice, "that you are finally ready to accept our offer?"

"We are, Lord Zeus," Annabeth croaked, "we've had 65 years of happiness together. Not bad for a couple of half-bloods. Now, we just want peace." Poseidon looked at the ground.

"Come then," Hades offered, "Join the heroes waiting for you in Elysium." He waved his hand, and light enveloped the couple. When the light faded, they were gone. In their place stood a statue finer than any of the others. Painted marble captured the two half-bloods as they had been when they were young. The statue's beauty was overshadowed, however, by the sight of the sea god standing next to Zeus.

Tears, real, genuine tears, fell to the ground, as Poseidon slowly sank to his knees. None knew what to do. To see a god cry was unbelievable. To see Poseidon weep for his son, unimaginable. Even more surprising, however, was the hand he felt take his own. He looked up to see the niece with whom he had long quarreled standing beside him.

"They truly were the greatest heroes in three millennia," She said.

"It was more than that," Poseidon said. Athena knew what he meant. Throughout the ages, heroes had always sought to please their immortal parents. Sacrifices were made, prayers were given, and great deeds were done in their names. What child wouldn't seek the favor of a godly parent?

Perseus Jackson was different. His gifts were small. A sea shell pattern tie sent as a gift one Father's Day, a Christmas card every December, an iris message once in a while to say hello, and show Poseidon and Athena how big their grandchildren had grown, these were all little gestures, most of which only made the other Olympians laugh. When Annabeth and Percy finally married, Athena started getting the same treatment from her daughter, almost certainly at her son-in-law's insistence.

But Perseus never asked for grand blessings either. _Come to the wedding,_ he would ask, _wait with me while your grandchildren are being born_. He had even asked the both of them personally to come see the twins play Captain Hook and Wendy when their school performed "Peter Pan." As Athena stood there, she grew to understand the tears in Poseidon's eyes, and her own eyes began to grow tearful.

"We were more than gods to them," She admitted.

"I've been a father many times," He agreed, "but never before have I been a dad. I understand why mortals weep at funerals."

"Not just mortals," Hestia interrupted, "You cry because they are gone, and because you cannot go with them." With a look at Zeus, she suggested that the rest of the Olympians should depart. Poseidon and Athena needed time alone. After all, gods have little experience with mourning.


End file.
